


dangerous

by flysafepapi



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flysafepapi/pseuds/flysafepapi
Summary: They don’t look dangerous, she thinks, carefully looking around at them all, but maybe that’s the point.
Relationships: Johnny Dogs/Original Female Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from my tumblr of the same name

“How many times has he come home in a mood? At least three times a week,” Camille hears the other two waitresses whispering together, heads bowed as if no one will notice that they’re huddled in the kitchen and not doing their jobs. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps doing her work, the same routine that she’s been doing for over a year at this point. Even if she did say something, she doubts it would get more of a reaction than scorn and a scolding for not doing her own work. It’s not hard to see what they mean; when she slips into the drawing room, to tidy up the tea set that one of the other maids had set out an hour before, she jumps when she sees him staring out the window, his jaw tight.

“Sorry for the intrusion, sir,” Camille says, keeping her eyes down on the plates as she gently puts them onto the plastic covered table, littered with coffee stains that no amount of scrubbing would remove and yellowed with age. “Can I get you anything?” She glances up, just for a second even though she knows she shouldn’t, and catches a glimpse of bright eyes watching her before she looks away again. It’s never a good idea, looking anyone in the eye, especially here. All of a sudden, the bruises under her uniform ache, like they’re making themselves known and warning her of worse things that could happen if she raises her eyes anymore. When he says no, she nods and walks around the table, like the barrier between them will do anything about the way he carefully watches her wince when a wrong movement pulls at the still-healing bruises on her back.

For a minute, she feels like warning him, telling him that Gina is a snake in the grass, but if he doesn’t believe her, if he tells Gina of her warning, what will happen to her? At best, they’ll simply fire her, at worst, well, she doesn’t want to think about the consequences. She keeps her words to herself, and silently leaves the room once she’s gathered up all the teacups and saucers, the remnants of whatever get together with other high society ladies Gina was hosting. Camille is glad that she was put on kitchen duty for that little party, hidden away from the scorn of the white women that look down on her just for the colour of her skin, let alone the fact that she’s there to wait on them, cater to their every demand. What would her mother think of her now, doing the bidding of white women that wouldn’t even look her in the eye?

**

“Who’s the maid?”

She doesn’t cringe when Gina says, all trilling sweetness to cover the poison, that Camille is her maid, there to do whatever she wants whenever she wants it, but it’s a near thing. Evidently, the other people in the room feel the same, because she sees more than a few of them roll their eyes, but after that little altercation, they ignore her for the most part. It’s never been in her nature to eavesdrop, but even she’s heard about these people, the danger they represent. People talk, especially the other maids, repeating what they’ve heard from other maids and so on. She doesn’t mean to listen, but it’s hard to block them out when they talk so loud about it and she’s trying to work. They don’t look dangerous, she thinks, carefully looking around at them all, but maybe that’s the point.

She understands little about what they’re talking about, not interested in their business dealings, and admittedly, her attention is somewhat caught by the man standing at the other end of the room. He certainly doesn’t look dangerous, she thinks. If she had saw him on the street, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of any great violence, but then he looks up and notices that she’s been watching him. In the past, when her actions have gotten the best of her, men have either had her punished or ignored her outright, dismissing her either for the colour of her skin or her station in life. This one, he grins at her, amused and, maybe, a little flattered, and winks. Then she understands.

This one might be the most dangerous of them all.


	2. Chapter 2

“Can I give you a hand?”

Camille doesn’t get startled often, but she does now, almost dropping the bags in her arms. Gina had sent her to pick up some things, she didn’t dare ask what, and it was a struggle to keep them all in her arms as she walked back towards the car. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It’s almost comical, the thought that the man in front of her could scare anyone. Camille knew very well the sort of man that could, still woke up in a cold sweat after nightmares about that sort of man, and he didn’t look like one of them. Looks could be deceiving, though, she understood. 

“No, that’s alright, I just didn’t see you there. Could you get the door for me, please?”

She has to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing when he almost slips in the mud to open the car door for her. All the bags and boxes manage to fit in the back seat, somehow, after some shoving and rearranging. While she fixes everything, she can feel him standing next to her, watching her every movement. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t mildly disconcerting. 

“Can I help you with something, sir?”

When in doubt, be polite, her mother had told her on more than one occasion, and she hears her mother’s voice now, warning her not to take a misstep. Somehow, she doesn’t think he’d be bothered if she hadn’t been polite like she’d been taught. 

She’s a little taller than him, she realises, when she stands back upright and closes the door. Not a lot, nothing drastic, but it’s obvious that he has to angle his head up to look her in the eyes, and it’s a little endearing. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me? Tonight?”

Refuse, is her first impulse. Gina would never allow it, if Camille asked for the night off, for one, and even though she hates that woman beyond anything she’s ever felt before, she needs the work because she needs the money, no matter how degrading the work feels. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I’ve got-”

“I understand, ma’am.” 

In Camille’s experience, men don’t deal well with rejection, and her skin bears the scars of what they could do in their anger of not getting what they want, so when he nods like he understands and takes a step back, still with that smile on his face, it almost brings tears to her eyes. When was the last time that saying no actually worked for her? 

“I can wait,” he says, and slides his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels while he looks at her, enjoying the faint flush under her skin. There’s just something about her, he’s noticed, something wild and untamed unlike the rest of the women in the city, not to mention a maid that works for a woman like Gina Gray. Deplorable woman, he thinks. “For someone like you, I’d wait until the world ends.”

She’s confused, and strangely flattered, enough that she forgets she doesn’t know his name until he’s already at the corner, and doesn’t think before she calls out “Wait! I don’t even know your name!”

Immediately, he turns back around, with that same grin, crinkling his eyes at the corners, the one that makes him look like the kind of person she could trust, and calls back “Johnny!”


	3. Chapter 3

There’s been more than a few dinners Camille has been on in her life, and they hadn’t all ended well, so even without the threat of losing her job, she thinks that it might have been a good idea to turn Johnny down. If there’s one thing her life has taught her, it’s that the ones that look harmless are the ones that usually do the most damage. No, she won’t put herself in that danger again, she decides. The risk isn’t worth it.

She has to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes when she hears Gina yelling about something or other while she’s getting dressed for the day. Woman of the house, Camille thinks, couldn’t be a worse title for her. That would require Gina to actually be a lady, and Camille knows that the other woman couldn’t be further from it. You need this job, she repeats to herself, when the ire of Gina is turned on her for whatever imagined slights the horrible woman thought up today, you can’t afford to lose it. If she just keeps her head down and does her work, nothing will happen.

That plan works for maybe an hour. It’s not the first time that people have ridiculed her for the colour of her skin, but suddenly it feels like the last weight on her back that she can handle. She knows she shouldn’t say anything, but she can’t help it. The way everything on the table rattles when she tears off the stupid apron and slams it down is satisfying, but nothing compared to the mixture of outrage and panic on Gina’s face when Camille begins to speak.

“I’ve put up with a lot in my life, but I’m not doing this any more. You are a horrible, disgusting person, and I feel sorry for anyone that has to be around you for more than a few minutes. One day, everything you have here is going to be ripped from your hands. You’ll be the one that everyone looks down upon, and when I see you after that happens, I’m just going to smile, because I know that I’ve got something you could never have. I’ve got a heart. I quit.”

Ignoring the irate screaming from behind her, she goes right to her bedroom in the maids quarters and gathers up her things. There’s not a lot, she never was a person interested in material things. A few pictures of her family, her journal, some books. Aside from her clothes, she doesn’t have anything else, and prefers it that way. It feels like freedom, when she throws the maid uniform across the bed and changes into her own clothes. It’s not much, a simple pair of pants and shirt, but it feels liberating. She leaves the shoes off, suddenly desperate to feel the earth under her feet, like she always had when she was younger.

The reality of the situation doesn’t hit her until she’s a few streets away from the house. She’s got no job, nowhere to go, and it’ll be dark soon. No money for a room for the night, either. Sleeping out in the open is an option, but she doesn’t trust cities, never really has. When a hand lands on her shoulder, she almost jumps out of her skin, and spins around brandishing the only thing she’s got that’s remotely weapon-like.

“Sorry, I scared you again,” Johnny says, looking down at the book she’s holding like she’s ready to hit someone with it. “You looked like you might have needed some help.”

Clearing her throat, and lowering the book, she nods. “I’ve quit my job, and I’ve only just realised I have no place to go. Sleeping on the streets isn’t appealing.” Immediately, she curses herself for saying that. Something about him is oddly disarming, she reasons, it wasn’t her fault, not really.

“You can sleep with me!” There’s a pause, where she covers her mouth to stop herself from laughing, and Johnny flushes red as the implications of his words catch up to him. “I mean, you can stay with me for the night! No sleeping together, although I wouldn’t say no to that. I’ve got room, if you want it, please ignore what stupidity I just said because I really like you and if I’ve scared you off, I’ll never forgive myself, love.”

He looks adorably flustered in the light of the setting son, awkwardly tucking his hands into his pockets, and she can’t keep the laughter in any longer. It bursts out of her, loud in the relative silence of the dwindling crowd, and for a second he looks confused before he joins in. The two of them must look crazy, leaning against the wall, laughing at seemingly nothing. It takes a few minutes for Camille to pull herself back together again, but once she does, she nods and takes his arm.

“Staying with you sounds lovely. But just know if you try anything, I’ll stab you in the throat.”

He looks at her with a small smile on his face and an odd warmth in his eyes. “I’d expect nothing less, darlin’.”


	4. Chapter 4

She never realised how much she missed the small village she grew up in, until she’s sleeping out in a field again, kept warm with the crackling fire burning strong not too far away. It brings back memories of camping out with her siblings and cousins, running barefoot through the grass and catching frogs and fish, and makes her miss them even more. It’s a little uncomfortable, but nothing she can’t handle. Regardless of what degradation she’s put herself through in recent years, she’s a Landry, and no Landry had ever turned down nature for a city for long.

“You’re not from here.”

“No, I’m not. I came across from America, years ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

It’s a better dinner than she was expecting. A part of her thought it might have been at some stuffy restaurant, and she’s glad that it isn’t. She comes from poverty, no doubt about it, and no amount of waiting on rich women will make her any more comfortable with how uptight those places are.

“Sometimes. But this is good, too.”

He smiles at her. She refuses to admit that it makes butterflies flutter in her stomach, at least out loud. In a way, he reminds her of the men she’d known back home, but only in the best ways. There’s no worry in her that one day he might snap, and add to the scars that already litter her skin, which is refreshing, and a little frightening, too. She knows what to do with those type of men, she doesn’t know what to do about this. 

“It’s not that different, really. I’ve missed doing this the most,” she says, gesturing widely, “Sleeping under the stars, eating what you catch. It’s a taste of home.” 

“I thought it might be. You don’t seem like all the other city women, love, not at all. Made for the open fields and the freedom, aren’t you?”

When she was younger, her father took her and her siblings camping for their birthdays, and they were the happiest she could ever remember being, until now.

“Ever gone swimming at night, then, love?”

“All the time. Why, are you offering?” 

While he’s flustered from the bold remark, unlike her, she shoots up from the log she’d been reclining on and starts towards the river, shouting “Race you there!” over her shoulder, and laughs when she hears Johnny curse and scramble to catch up with her. She’s not expecting the tackle from behind, just before she stops at the edge of the river, and tumbles into the water. It’s cold, not entirely unpleasant but enough to make her gasp when she resurfaces, trying to scowl through the grin on her face. 

“That was a dirty move, mister.”

“Well we were getting in the water anyway, this was just faster.”

She feels no remorse when she picks up a handful of mud and throws it at him, hitting him directly in the chest, and laughs when he looks up at her, shocked first, then grinning, bending down to pick up his own handful. It quickly devolves into an all-out mud war, until the two of them are covered in it and breathless from laughter, still wearing their clothes even though she’s pretty sure they’re beyond salvation at this point. 

“This wasn’t what I had in mind, when you said you had a place for me to stay.”

“No? Expecting boring, were you, maybe a bit of taking advantage?”

Her silence says more than she ever could. 

“You’re safe with me,” he says, and hesitantly puts his hands on her waist, looking at her with a small smile, “I wouldn’t do anything, I promise.”

“I know. I trust you.”

The kiss, when it happens, is nothing spectacular. She’s been kissed before, maybe more than her fair share, in a variety of different ways, both forced and not. It’s just a kiss, it’s not life changing, there’s no cliche spark of lightning that hits her when he kisses her softly, but afterwards? When he looks at her like she’s something to be valued, not something to use, with that smile on his face and the soft look in his eyes? 

Maybe that’s when she starts to fall in love with him, just a little.


	5. Chapter 5

“Johnny!”

The loud voices outside woke Camille up, and she groaned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Looking through the window, she could see that the sun had only just started rising, just beginning to shine through the trees. 

“What time ‘s it?”

“Early. I think you’ve got friends waiting for you,” she said, just as a loud knock on the caravan and a shout of “We can hear you in there, mate, time to get up!” It wasn’t cold, not really, but she pulled the jumper back on anyway, and stood up to pull the nearest pair of pants back on, unsure if they were her or Johnny’s but not bothered either way as long as she wasn’t exposed before the curtain got yanked open. 

“Alright, calm down, we’re coming! Are you coming out, or do you want to stay in here?” 

“I’m not going to hide in here. I’ll start on breakfast while you’re busy,” she said, and kissed him quickly before she slipped out of the caravan and onto grass that was still wet with dew. The curious stares that locked on her almost immediately didn’t go unnoticed, and she stared back, amused by the way one of them looked down at the jumper that hung off her body, too big to be hers, and held his hand out, loudly announcing “Pay up, gentlemen!” Amid groans and grumbles, several of the other men dropped coins into the man’s hand, and he grinned at her. “I told you he wasn’t around so much because he’d found himself a girl.”

Johnny pushed the curtain back and stepped out, still doing up the buttons on his shirt, and shook his head. “First you wake us up at the crack of dawn, now you’re taking bets on us? I’m appalled, John.” The grin on his face doesn’t match the words, and he slides an arm around Camille’s waist, squeezing a little. “Alright, love?” She can tell by the way he looks at her that he’s thinking about everything she’d told him about the things she’d heard Gina talk about, the talks about taking over the Shelby company. 

It’s been a good three weeks, peaceful, but the thought of it has always been in the back of her mind, part of the reason why she’d been hesitant to stay in the city. There’s only a matter of time before Gina realises what a liability she is, that she could spill secrets and ruin everything, and Camille isn’t naive, she knows what desperation can make a person do. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” She knows eventually she’ll have to speak up about what she knows, but she’s going to drag this time out for as long as she can. What they’re going to do her when they find out the news, she doesn’t know, so she’s savouring it as much as she can. Maybe a little too much, based on the soreness in her legs and hips. “You boys hungry? I’m making eggs.”

When she thought about where her life would be one day, sitting around a fire with members of a notoriously dangerous gang hadn’t factored in, but it’s strangely comfortable, after they’ve all introduced themselves. Well, it is if she ignores the way they’re clearly speaking in code terms around her, trying to conceal the actual reason for the visit, but she’s not interested one way or the other. Their business is their business, she’s just making breakfast.

“So how did this start, then? Long way from Gina’s maid to this,” Arthur says, lighting up a cigarette with the fire, and looking between her and Johnny curiously. 

“And how did someone like you get someone like Camille, Johnny? Cast one of those gypsy curses on her?” 

There’s sniggering from everyone, and she rolls her eyes but smiles. The back and forth reminds her of how it used to be with her and all her cousins, joking with each other around the fire late into the night. 

“Hell if I know, but I’m going to question it, am I? That’s just asking for trouble.” 

“Looks like she’s trouble enough.” John reaches out and pokes at Johnny’s neck, where a scratch curves around the back of his neck, and laughs when he blushes deep red. Camille laughs along with him, and drops her head onto Johnny’s shoulder when he looks at her, a faux betrayed look on his face. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side, I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Rolling her eyes again, she kisses him, and then laughs harder when he pushes her off the log when she whispers “Actually, I’m pretty sure I was on my back.” The man sitting on her other side, Isiah, chokes on his drink when he hears her, and almost sprays it on Arthur sitting across from him, throwing his head back and laughing to the clouds. 

“Don’t worry Camille, you’ll definitely fit in around here.”

She still misses her family, but maybe she’s found a new one.


	6. Chapter 6

“Morning, love. You’re up early, everything alright?”

She had woken up before the sun rose, a rolling feeling in her stomach pulling her from sleep, and somehow had managed to stumble far enough away in the dark to be sick on the dirt where Johnny wouldn’t have heard. It’s not that she’s trying to hide anything, just that she didn’t want to be a source of unnecessary worry. She’s not a woman that has ever needed to be looked after and coddled, and she’s not going to become one now just because she’s found someone that sees her and not the colour of her skin, love her for who she is and not what she looks like. It’s not a big deal, she thinks, but she knows it is, but decides to keep it to herself, just for now. Just until she’s had the time she needs to accept it, herself. It’s only been a few weeks.

“I’m okay, I just couldn’t get back to sleep, didn’t want to wake you so I came out here.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

He sits behind her in front of the fire, and wraps his arms around her waist, rests his head on her shoulder. It’s nice, the closeness, and the softness. Everything seems suspended in that place where nothing matters except the two of them, and though she knows it won’t last, she wishes it could. Neither of them talk after that, but they don’t need to. Maybe. She looks down at their entwined hands, her darker skin against his, and wonders if she’s made a mistake in not telling him what’s on her mind.

There’s nothing for her today except to sit around, so when Johnny tells her that he’s got to go into the city to see Tommy and the other men, and asks if she wants to come with him, she accepts immediately. A little line of worry on his face smooths out, like he’d been worried that she would say no, not want to be seen with him. If there was any reason to say no, it’s because she knows Gina will be there, not because she’s ashamed of him at all. Nothing in the world could make her do anything she didn’t choose, not even him. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want him.

And she did, want him. She’s been in relationships before, but none of them have felt like this. The previous ones had all been exhausting, draining, but what she had here was easy, and comfortable. There was never a moment when she thought she should leave for her own safety, or worried about keeping herself quiet and out of the way to avoid being hurt. Johnny’s a good man, she knows, the best she’s ever known, and knows that she made the right choice taking him up on that offer of a place to stay, months ago. Sometimes, when he goes into the city on business and she stays behind, it’s hard to believe that this is where she is now.

“I love you,” he says, pulling the coat she’s wearing tighter around her, and kissing her on the cheek. “I hope you know that.” Her own coat was still wet and covered in mud, from the last storm, so he’s given her his, and it’s comfortingly warm around her. It’s still too large, but she doesn’t mind it, or the look he gives her when she’s wearing his clothes. That’s never a bad thing. The drive doesn’t take long, and they don’t talk during it, but he takes her hand halfway through and squeezes, and she has to duck her head to hide the smile.

“Camille! I was wondering if your man here would bring you, he’s been keeping you all to himself out there.” Arthur is loud. She doesn’t know him well, but anyone that spends ten minutes with him would know that. It’s refreshing, not having to worry about the people in the room looking down on her for who she is. The hug he grabs her in is a little tight, but she returns it anyway, and laughs when John pushes him away to get his own hug in. Who knew that cooking people eggs would leave such a good impression?

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you all, could I? Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Camille Landry.”

The woman is intimidating, but Camille has never backed down from anything, so she holds out her hand and smiles, trying to make herself seem as unthreatening and harmless as possible. Not that shes a threat, far from it, but she doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to send her away. She’s had enough of that in her life. Her outstretched hand being ignored for grabbing her on the chest is new, and a little bit of a shock, to be honest, and she freezes, unsure of what to do in this situation. Apparently, everyone else does it for her. 

“Pol, what the hell are you doing?”

“Is that how we greet people now?”

Polly looks at her, still with a blank face, and asks her how long she’s been pregnant for. It seems like all the air gets sucked out of the room, for how silent it goes, like the words have struck her deaf and frozen everyone in time simultaneously. So much for having time to come to terms with it herself, she thinks, before everyone snaps back into motion. Honestly, she’s a little surprised that no money changes hands this time. It’s not fear that keeps her from turning to look at Johnny, not really, more like caution of his reaction. How would it feel, to find out this news from someone else? 

“You’re pregnant?”

Now that he’s looking at her, she can’t keep it to herself any longer, not with that look on his face. 

“I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid, and-”

“We’re going to have a baby? I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes.”

She feels Polly’s thoughtful look at the small flinch that happens when she says it, bad memories making themselves known. The chance of past experiences not affecting her even now is slim to none. It’s a relief, when he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her, grabs her in a tight hug before he gasps a little and pulls back just enough so her stomach isn’t pressed against him, like that’s going to make all the difference. “I’m going to be a dad.” He says, low, and then yells it out to the room, like everyone hasn’t been following this whole conversation. Everyone moves in, then, the two of them being passed around the room from person to person to congratulate them, hugs and smiles all around. It takes a full five minutes before she’s back in front of him. 

“We’re going to be a family.”

“Aren’t we already?” She says, looking at the men breaking out glasses and bottles of rum, business forgotten for the moment. “I love you.”

“Does this mean we have to get married now?”

“Have I asked you to marry me yet?” 

“No, ma’am.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What are you doing?”

It’s early, or late, it’s impossible to tell in the darkness that fills the caravan, and the late summer storm is still going strong outside, pounding rain against the wood making a soothing rhythm. Irregular bolts of lightning cast the space in quick flashes of light, not enough to see by for longer than a second, but neither of them need it. Sometime during the night she’d rolled over, away from the circle of his arms, and he lays behind her now, one arm thrown over her waist. It was the movement that woke her, and the warm hand that spread over her stomach, carefully feeling out the subtle swell of the bump with reverent touches. 

“Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, whispering like talking too loud would ruin the quiet moment. “But now that you are, how are you feeling?” It’s a question he’s been asking approximately three thousand times a day, since he found out. It would be annoying, if he didn’t look at her like he does when he asks, like everything he’s ever wanted is right in front of him. How is she supposed to think about what she’s going to do next, when that smile makes her want to stay out here forever?

“I’m fine, Johnny. If anything happens, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

The silence that fills the caravan then is comfortable, just the two of them watching the storm outside the window, curled up together under the blankets. He keeps his hand on her stomach, sliding up under the jumper she’s wearing so he can feel her warm skin under his fingers. She thinks about the differences, his paler skin against her darker, and wonders which one of them the baby will look like, if there’s not a mix of them both. Like he can read her mind, Johnny says “I hope they have your eyes. That was the first thing I noticed about you; those beautiful green eyes.”

“My eyes and your smile, that’ll be a lethal combination.”

When she was younger, she’d fought against her parents, whenever they suggested she find someone. Too wild, they said, but she liked it just fine that way. When all the other girls, including her sisters and cousins, were daydreaming about the future, who they were going to marry, how many children they were going to have, she had been imagining the day when she’d leave and travel the world, just her and a horse, free to do whatever she pleased. No one around to tell her what to do. ‘I’ll find my own man,’ she’d shouted, when her mother had tried to arrange a marriage for her. 'He’ll be good, and kind, and won’t think of me as something to own. He’ll love me because of who I am, not try to change it.’ Things hadn’t quite gone to plan. It took her a long time to understand that men who called themselves good were anything but. Too many times she’d put her trust in someone that had hurt her, in the end.

Here, now, she knows that she’s finally made the right choice.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

“I’m thinking that I want to have this for the rest of my life.”

She shivers when he brushes a kiss along the back of her neck, and she knows that he’s done it on purpose because he knows very well that she’s ticklish there. Rolling over to face him is a struggle, and she ends up almost nose to nose with him, looking at him as much as she can with the proximity and the lack of light. Vaguely, she can make out his silhouette.

“You should marry me.”

“Maybe I’m not that kind of man, you ever think of that? I deserve to be asked properly, love.”

Even without light, she can see his grin, hears it in his voice.

“Will you marry me, you insufferable man?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Alright, okay, stay calm. Everything’s going to be fine. There’s no reason to panic.”

She’s not entirely surprised when her waters break halfway through the dinner. Honestly, she’s surprised it hadn’t happened as soon as they walked through the doors together, but it was coming either way, she just knew it somehow. Hiding her grin, she watches her husband practically jump out of his seat and grab her shoulders, absolutely panicking himself but trying to hide it. It doesn’t work, everyone in the room can see the faint horror on his face. 

“Johnny, get out of the way, you’re the one panicking.” Vincent nudges him out of the way and helps Camille up out of her chair, gently leading her through to the sitting room, and gets her situated on the low couch, fussing with the pillows until she’s comfortable. Johnny follows, still looking vaguely ill, and stands in the middle of the room until Polly tells him he’s just getting in the way and pushes him around the back of the couch. He takes one of Camille’s hands, kneeling down on the floor so he can be closer to her, and brushes her hair back from her face. “Time to find out who’s right about it being a boy or girl, love.”

They could have asked Zilpha to tell them, but they’d decided to wait and find out when the time came. Which, apparently, is right in the middle of Vincent’s birthday dinner. 

Camille has been through a lot of painful experiences in her life, but nothing like what follows. All the scars on her back, and the reasons they’re there, are child’s play compared to giving birth. She’d take all of them again over this, screaming to the ceiling when it becomes too much and squeezing Johnny’s hand with all the strength she has. Vaguely, she’s aware that he’s talking to her, but the words don’t register over the agony. His hands on her face do, gently wiping away the sweat on her forehead with a towel that Vincent had shoved into his hands to give him something to do, and she’s aware that he could have just left until all this messy business was done but stayed because, as she’s known all along, he’s a good man, but in the moment, all she wants to do is hit him. 

“I hope you’re satisfied with one, because I’m never doing this again.”

“Almost there, Cam, you just have to keep pushing.”

For a man that she’s never seen without bruises on his knuckles or cuts on his face, Vincent is surprisingly gentle, never moving from his spot by Polly’s side to assist whenever she needs it. 

“Hurts,” she hears herself say, more like a groan really, and Vincent pats her on the knee, “I know, it’ll be over soon, trust me.” Oddly, she does, even though he’s most definitely the kind of person her own parents would have warned away from when she was younger. 

“Come on, love, you can do this.”

Polly has to stifle a laugh at the venomous glare that Camille sends Johnny, and if looks could kill the poor man would be dead and buried. He absorbs it all without flinching, and he’d look entirely unaffected if he didn’t have tears in his eyes from the death grip Camille has on his hand. 

He outright starts crying when Polly puts his daughter into his arms, sniffling, but no one calls him out on it. 

“Look at her. She’s beautiful. Didn’t I tell you that she’d have your lovely dark skin, love?”

“I hope she has your smile.”

Polly and Vincent slip out of the room, leaving the two of them alone for a minute, not that either one of them noticed, especially when everyone flooded into the room, eager to see the newest addition to the family, uncharacteristically quiet. At least, as quiet as they get, which isn’t truly quiet but enough that they don’t disturb the baby too much. There’s no immediate screaming, at least. 

Ada gets to them first, telling them that she wants to hold her new niece, and takes the baby from Camille with gentle hands, cradling her to her chest. “Oh, she’s perfect. I’m happy for you, truly.” What follows next is an hour of ‘pass the baby’, everyone in the room waiting for their turn to hold her, and it’s nice. There’s been a shortage of time when they’re all together and things haven’t been tense and uncomfortable. She thinks she even sees Tommy crack a smile, just for a second, when Lizzie puts the baby in his arms before he can back away. 

“What are you going to name her?”

Finn looks at her with a smile, still waiting for a turn to hold his new cousin, and the question is followed by at least a dozen people echoing it, looking to the two of them for an answer. 

“You can take this one, darlin’.”

“We were thinking Violet.”

Yes, that’s definitely a smile on Tommy’s face when he looks down at the baby, gently rocking her against his chest. 

“I hope you know that you’ve just been born into the most protective family in existence, Violet.”


	9. Chapter 9

Camille has never been a violent person. She’s had the thoughts before, same as everyone else, but she’s never acted on any of them. There’s enough violence in the world, in her opinion, not a small bit of it caused by the people she calls family. She doesn’t love them any less for it. It might not be her way, but she’s not going to stop them, or try to change who they are. How they do things is who they are, and what would they be if she tried to take that away? 

In all honesty, Vincent is probably the most violent among them, despite what his appearance would suggest. She’s seen him in action a few times, and it almost never ends well for the poor soul that happens to be on the other end of his rage. Maybe it’s because he has no sense of self preservation, or the dark streak in him, buried deep under the facade he puts up. If it wasn’t for Arthur and the kids, she’s pretty sure he would have gotten himself killed years ago. Somehow, he’s passed the darkness down to his son, the two of them with the devil in their veins, even if they aren’t related by blood. Regardless of their differences, her and Vincent, they get along well. 

“I heard about what happened.”

“Johnny has a big mouth.”

“Actually, it was Arthur. He’s worried about you.”

He doesn’t look up from the gun he’s holding in his hands, methodically taking it apart to clean it, and that’s probably the biggest indication that something is about to go insanely, horribly wrong. 

“I’m fine, Cam.”

“Good. Now try to say that and actually mean it.”

She’d been fond of his protege too, amused and a little protective of the kid who had dreams bigger than anything, and when she’d heard about what happened to him it’d made a sick feeling settle in her stomach. It’s a part of the business, people get killed, consequences happen or sometimes things go wrong, but it never gets less painful. 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Kill them.”

The way Vincent says it, matter of fact and sure, should be concerning, but she knows it’s how he deals with things, taking his revenge swift and deadly, but there’s a bigger picture here and she’s not completely sure that he’s seeing it. 

“Why don’t you come inside, get something to eat first? You’re not going to be able to do anything like this.”

He’s still got blood on his hands, the same blood he’d had coating them when they’d got home, and the same dead look in his eyes. They’re dark and blank, like there’s nothing behind them. It’s disconcerting, to see the way he could turn it on and off like a switch, flicking back and forth between his regular self and what he turned into when he was intent on retribution in blood. 

“No, thanks. I don’t have time, but tell Arthur I said he can stop worrying, I’m not the one that’s going to come back from this in pieces.”

She’s seen Vincent in a dozen different moods; happy, sad, angry, the whole spectrum. This feels deeper than that, tapping into the black that runs through him like poison. “Arthur will never stop worrying.” That gets her a smile, which looks strange with those flat eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“Neither will you.”

“Doing this won’t bring him back. It’ll just lead to worse things.”

When he looks up at her, his eyes are distant, like he’s looking right through her at something that isn’t there. 

“He was just a kid. If they wanted to send a message, they could have-” Killed me, he doesn’t say, but she hears it just as clearly as if he had. “Why didn’t he fight back?”

“Like you just said, he was just a kid. It’s different when there’s rules to follow and a bell to wait for, you know that.”

“What did you do, when they had you?”

They’ve never talked about the scars. Everyone knows she has them, she’s not ashamed of them, but only Johnny knows the truth of where they came from. It doesn’t surprise her, that Vincent is the one that’s put the pieces together and came up with the right conclusion. His mind has always been sharper than most. 

“I fought back, as much as I could, but that’s not the same.”

“How isn’t it?”

“Because I didn’t have someone like you to look over me.”

He doesn’t break, not really, but his eyes get a little misty and he sniffles, trying to hold back the sob that rises in his chest. It’s always been a flaw of his, the need to take everyone’s pain onto himself so he can deal with it for them, but it doesn’t work that way. 

“I wasn’t there, I could’ve-”

“You would have gotten yourself killed right along with him, and then where would we be? I didn’t know him as well as you did, but I know that he would have hated that, and you know it.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

Camille pulls him up out of the chair and starts leading him towards the kitchens, intent on getting some food in him before he does anything. 

“You come with me, and we come up with a plan. And then we hit them where it hurts the most, because they took someone away from all of us and I’ll be damned if I don’t see them burn for it.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re not supposed to be in here!”

Camille turns around at the sound of Esme shouting, and sees her and Ada with their hands thrown over Johnny’s eyes to stop him from seeing her in her wedding dress. She hadn’t even heard the door open. She laughs, when Ada swats him on the shoulder and tells him that she’s going to have words with him later. 

“I’ll keep my eyes closed, I swear.”

“It’s alright, he won’t see me, not if he values his life. Give us a few minutes?”

True to his word, he keeps his eyes firmly closed when Ada and Esme leave, closing the door behind them, and jumps a little when she takes his hands. 

“Why did you need to talk to me?”

“I didn’t, I just missed you.” 

“You saw me this morning, we’ve been apart for three hours.” 

He drops her hands and puts them on her waist, feeling the fabric underneath his fingers. Desperately, he wants to open his eyes and look at her, because he knows that she looks beautiful, but he doesn’t dare take even the slightest peek. She’s perceptive, his love, and she’d know. 

“I always miss you when you’re gone.”

“You’re a ridiculous man.”

She’s taller than him, even in the flat shoes that she’d chosen for the day, too tired to deal with anything else, and has to dip down a little to kiss him. She keeps it short, careful not to get drawn into him, and jabs him in the chest with a grin when his left hand starts trailing down the back of her dress. “No funny business, mister. Save that for later.” 

Ada doesn’t bother knocking before she walks back in, and she ushers Johnny out with a soft push, telling him to keep his eyes closed until he hears the door shut. Camille watches him leave with a smile and shakes her head. She’s never been more sure of her decision to ask him to marry her.

**

Camille doesn’t have any family of her own, not anymore, so the area where her own should be is noticeably bare, but it’s hard to care about when she peeks out of the curtain and sees Johnny standing at the far end of the field, standing in his suit next to Tommy and Arthur, grinning. 

“Are you ready?”

“Never been more ready for anything.” 

She takes Jeremiah’s, and he helps her down out of the vardo by taking her hand and leading her down the steps, holding the bottom of the dress up so it doesn’t get caught under her feet. They’ve gotten close, over the last year or so, and he’d teared up a little when she’d asked him to be the one to escort her down the aisle. For a while, she’d been unsure of their friendship, if it would be taken as a flirtation, but the two of them have never felt anything towards each other that went past familial. 

It’s slightly disconcerting, to have all everyone’s eyes on her once they see that she’s started towards the arch at the end of the aisle, but she just takes a deep breath and focuses on Johnny, looking at her like he’s never seen her before after he slowly turns around. On either side, she can see the gathered group of all their friends, but she can’t look away for the man waiting for her under the tree. She barely hears what says, when he puts her hand in Johnny’s, too busy looking at him. 

“You look beautiful.”

‘So do you. Who knew you could clean up so well?” She winks at him, and has to turn away when he laughs, not too loudly although it does interrupt Vincent from his officiating.

He squeezes her hands, when it’s time for her to say her vows. She’d talked to Vincent a week ago and told him that she’d write her own, and made him swear to keep it a secret from Johnny. A surprise, she said, one that he’ll be more than happy with. Just be prepared for it to derail everything else. Vincent’s no stranger to having to improvise, so he’d agreed. 

“From this day, I will look forward to each day with the knowledge that every tomorrow includes you by my side. I want you as my husband, my best friend, to stand with you side by side, hand in hand and heart to heart. On warm days and in storms, I will always be with you, and we will endure anything that nature bestows upon us. You taught me what it meant to love someone, the meaning of poetry and love songs, and dancing when there’s no music. I have nothing to give you except my whole self so that I can always hear that music, feel that poetry, and sing those songs with you forever.”

Behind her, someone sniffles, and Johnny tightens his grip on her hands. 

“Before you, my life was empty, and I never knew exactly how much until you walked into it. Everything with you has been better than I could ever have imagined, and I will always be thankful that you chose me. I love you, and I promise to spend the rest of our lives showing you just how much.”

True to what she thought, before Vincent can announce them man and wife, Johnny kisses her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in. It’s a little awkward, like it always is because of their differing heights, but she’s used to dipping her head down to meet him by now, and she laughs into the kiss when he swings her around, almost knocking Arthur down before he can back up. Distantly, she can hear their guests laughing and whistling, but the only thing she can properly focus on is his lips on hers and the feeling of his shoulders under her hands. 

“God, woman, you’re amazing.”


End file.
